The Great Gulp:
A Consumer Guide's to Beer

by Robert Christgau and Carola Dibbell

Eighty percent of the beer in this country is consumed by 20
percent of the drinkers. That's why the most effective beer slogan
ever conceived claims that its product is the best beer to have when
you're having more than one. Oui's consumer guide to beer,
presented herewith, has been devised for the 80 percent of American
beer drinkers who care about that first one.

Beer has been around ever since people discovered thirst. The
Mesopotamians, for example, invented a beerlike fermented beverage as
early as 6000 B.C. In a porridgelike form, a mildly inebriating beer
product may be as old as the Neolithic discovery of sprouted grain.
This is very similar to the basic element of the beermaking process
today, a porridge called wort. Strain the liquid off, ferment with
sugar and yeast, flavor with hops and there you have it. Whereas wine
is the product of fermenting the juice of grapes, beer is the generic
term for any brewed and fermented beverage made from malted
cereals.

Beermaking begins with malting--roasting germinated barley or other
grain to convert its starch to fermentable sugars. The malt is
thoroughly soaked in water, stirred and heated. Mashing, as this
process is called, determines the fermentable and nonfermentable
substances that will go into the brew. (Nonfermentable substances
give body to the finished product). This process produces enzymes
that further convert grain starches into fermentable sugars. When the
stirring stops, the solid materials settle, and the liquid passes to a
brewing kettle. Hops, which give beer its bitterness, are added and
the whole thing is boiled for a couple of hours. This reduces the
liquid, sterilizes the wort and darkens the brew. The hops are
strained out and fermentation begins.

The wort is cooled (to 37-49 degrees for beer, 50-70 degrees for
ale) and brewer's yeast is added to trigger the fermentation. More
than any other substance, the yeast determines the final character of
the beer. It is the secret to each beer's particular taste. Beer
takes about ten days to ferment; ale takes five or six.

Carbonic-acid gas, a by-product of fermentation, is given off and
stored to be added later on. The young beer is then stored in a
glass-lined vat, close to freezing, so that the yeast and the other
solid materials sink to the bottom. This makes the beer clear and
allows it to mellow and mature. The period of maturation is called
lagering and takes three or four months. The beer then gets its fizz
back when the carbonic-acid gas is returned (a process called
krausenating) and then the beer is run through a final filter and
packaged.

Beer came to America with the early settlers, who correctly
believed it safer and more nutritious than the water. Early American
beer was strong and flat, like English beers. The light, dry,
sparkling type had to await clippers ships fast enough to transport
perishable lager yeast from Germany. Lager beer, which is now the
only kind brewed in America, first appeared in the 1840s and was an
immediate success. In theory, the extremes of American climate demand
very light, highly carbonated beers that are best served ice cold.
But rising grain costs have played a less aesthetic and more important
part in the increasing lightness of American beer. So has the
inevitable centralization of the industry. Since the end of
Prohibition, the number of American breweries has declined from 735 to
about 70, and while that means a lot of smalltime swill no longer
greases the tubes, the oldtimers who complain about today's horse
water aren't just being nostalgic. A great many small brewers who
used to make wonderfully idiosyncratic beer just couldn't keep up with
more profitable mass production and distribution.

Under scientific conditions, none of this supposedly matters. When
test-tasting from unmarked glasses, most drinkers can't even identify
their favorite. But since beer actually contacts different receptors
on the tongue when it is gulped than when it is sipped, maybe science
doesn't matter. To assess the ratings presented below, we not only
sampled beers blindfolded but tried to live with them as well. This
technique had its debilitating consequences, but after months of
unpremeditated naps, we had learned to distinguish some of our beers
all of the time, and all of them some of the time. However, because
beer is fragile, we may not have sampled all of them in optimal
condition, and some beers, particularly the smaller and more westerly
ones, were unobtainable. All of the place identifications, by the
way, represent the brewery from which our batch was obtained.

One of our conclusions was that if you're thirsty, there's no such
thing as an undrinkable beer--therefore our ratings, which ordinarily
descend to E-minus, stopped at D-plus.

Many of the best beers in the country are virtually unknown, but
the size of the company is no clear indication of mediocrity. We like
Bud and Miller's and admire the National Brewing Company of Baltimore,
Detroit and Phoenix. We were surprised, however, to discover that
once poured into glasses, bottled beer was rarely so superior to
canned as to make a B beer as good as a B-plus.

ANCHOR STEAM BEER (San Francisco, California) This product is
the last example of America's only indigenous brewing process. The
main feature of the invention is air-temperature fermentation and its
mother was an ice scarcity during San Francisco Gold Rush days. The
beer also contains four times the usual amount of hops, the flower
that gives beer its bitterness. "Steam" just means carbonation. Our
bohemian friends found it winy, but we found it one more instance of
San Francisco's chronic confusion of eccentricity with quality.
B

ANDEKER (Pabst, Milwaukee, Wisconsin) The most European of
the Americans, with full body and well-modulated flavor. Creamy
rather than violently carbonated, sharp but not bitter. Can be sipped
as well as gulped and doesn't get pissy as it sits.
A MINUS

BALLANTINE PREMIUM LAGER (Newark, New Jersey) For a long
time, Ballantine's main social function was sponsoring Mickey Mantle's
home runs, which Mel Allen used to call Ballantine Blasts. Well, Mel
Allen is gone from New York now, and P. Ballantine and his sons have
left Newark. Falstaff bought their firm in 1972 and immediately
excised the "overpowering aroma" that was Ballantine's last
distinctive quality. Ballantine Ale, though, is metropolitan New
York's only surviving contribution to the brew-master's craft, and the
Indian Pale ("aged in wood") is so bitter it starts conversations at
parties. C

BREW II (Horlacher, Allentown, Pennsylvania) The label
boasts, "Second to none," and we don't doubt it, since this beer seems
to be its own category. While Brew II isn't malt liquor, it has the
highest alcohol content of any beer in the country and is definitely
the oddest one in our survey--so we liked it. Bitterer than stout,
sweeter than ale and Strong. B MINUS

BUDWEISER (Anheuser-Busch, Newark, New Jersey)
Anheuser-Busch isn't the biggest beer company in America just because
of its distribution. Budweiser is the Great Mean of good American
beers. In blindfold tests, Bud invariably placed second or third out
of four but rarely inspired much enthusiasm. It is scrupulously
controlled against off-flavors and idiosyncrasies. Even the water is
made to recipe in all plants, samples from two of which we
taste-tested and found indistinguishable. Busch Bavarian, A-B's
non-premium product, goes for 10 cents to 20 cents less per six-pack
but costs only half a cent less per bottle to produce, a classic
example of the "premium" concept. The concept goes back to the
Thirties, when, as a means of financing long-distance shipping for
some of the more successful beers, it may have borne a realistic
relation to the quality differentials. In Bud's case, it's not just
hype--Bud is measurably better than most "popular-priced" beers,
including Busch Bavarian. Schlitz, on the other hand, isn't.
B

CARLING (Natick, Massachusetts) This beer has something of a
rep. It's brewed in five locations all over the country; our batch
came from a package store in Boston and was brewed in Natick,
Massachusetts. We entered it in a blindfold test against two
nationals and one flourishing local: it finished last. Taste:
bad-bitter as opposed to good-bitter. Reputation: inflated.
C MINUS

COORS (Golden, Colorado) A cult has developed around this
beer, especially in the East, where it is not available except in
memory. Some cult. Coors ranks behind Bud, Schlitz and Pabst as the
fourth-biggest beer in the country; it expands at ten percent per year
and its only plant, in Golden, Colorado, is the largest single brewery
in the world. Even so, production can still fulfill only 11 states'
consumption. Coors distributes within refrigerated-car shipping
distance of its "Pure Rocky Mountain Spring Water" source. For this
reason, we had to smuggle our own six-pack (cans) in from San
Fransisco. Possibly due to in-flight temperature conditions, Coors
did poorly in our blindfold tests on avowed Coors lovers, including
ourselves. A friend whose firm ships Coors in regularly for private
consumption attests, however, that ours tasted like the genuine
article. Despite a distinctive, sort of nutty flavor, the beer wasn't
all that light and occasionally had a rotten taste.
B PLUS

COUNTRY CLUB BEER (Pearl, San Antonio, Texas) A surprising
little beer, comparable in taste and color to a good dry white wine,
but on the thin side. B MINUS

DIXIE (New Orleans, Louisiana) After Pearl bought out Jax
last summer, Dixie became the last of the New Orleans locals. Rumours
that it caused diarrhea are supposed to have done Jax in. We went too
late to test the rumour personally. A Mississippi friend tells us Jax
tasted quite a lot like Dixie--somehow managing to taste dry and
fruity at the same time, suggesting sweetness without actually being
sweet. Dixie was one of the surprise favorites of our survey, winning
several blindfold tests against a varied competition. Traditionally
the white beer in New Orleans (Jax and Falstaff shared the black
market), Dixie emerged from the civil rights years with a nearly
four-fold increase in sales, while Falstaff's sales went down
dramatically after a liberal ad campaign up North. But unbalance
competition from the supernationals--the real cause of Jax's
demise--makes strange alliances. Now, with Tulane students driving to
Texas for a Coors, the suburbs turning to Bud and the black market
gone to Schlitz, Dixie is starting a youth-oriented "Big doesn't
always mean best" campaign, while cautiously slipping a few soul ads
into the black radio stations. Good luck. B PLUS

FALSTAFF (Cranston, Rhode Island) The first brewery ever to
decentralize production (in the '30s; Bud and Schlitz followed in the
'40s), Falstaff, a national that has been losing, like, $6,000,000 a
year, currently employs the survival tactic of acquiring on-the-skids
and largely mediocre breweries (including Munich, Krueger, Ballantine
and fabled bad-beer Narragansett). Nevertheless, the Falstaff stock
is not without strengths, similar to those of its rich St.Louis
neighbor, Budweiser. Especially in bottles, Falstaff's bitterness has
a certain courage; it's possible to imagine Budweiser drinkers
complaining about it. Unfortunately, that's not always good.
B MINUS

FYFE & DRUM (Genesee, Rochester, New York) The brewer
calls this one "a superpremium beer with a taste that tells all those
foreign beers--America can brew it better!" In four separate taste
tests against varying competition, none of seven drinkers noticed
anything at all about it except that it was full and sweet, maybe even
vulgar. Handsome embossed Colonial-motif can. C

GABLINGER'S (Rheingold, New Bedford, Massachusetts) Were our
tasters' faces red when they learned that they had chosen this
low-calorie, low-carbohydrate number over the average C-range beer.
The explanation lies in its seltzery carbonation and the absence of
distinct bad flavors; not much else is going for it. Clean as in
thin. C PLUS

GENESEE (Rochester, New York) The kindest thing to be said
about this Upstate New York beer--which uses the old-fashioned
"krausening" method of fermenting (rather than injecting) its CO2--is
that it's nowhere near as bad as downstaters claim. Against
Rheingold, it tastes clean, against Schaefer, flavorful. Undisputed
winner of the tennis-ball-can look-alike contest. C

GRAIN BELT PREMIUM (Minneapolis, Minnesota) Since our survey
introduced us to this Midwestern beer (number one in Minneapolis),
we've discovered Grain Belt Premium admirers around the country,
though not the hard-core (or hard-cash) type who get cases shipped to
them on private planes. The beer has a good head, crisp body, full,
brisk flavor, and it can be drunk slowly. Don't waste time on the
nonpremium. B PLUS

HAMM'S (St. Paul, Minnesota) We remember Hamm's from
Midwestern bars, where we drank it from frosted bottles and thought it
tasted clean as a Minnesota lake. Did our samples make a traumatic
trip East or were our trips West euphoric? Good foretaste, bad
aftertaste. C

HEILEMAN OLD STYLE (La Crosse, Wisconsin) As is the case in
so many brands with a true premium line, the regular is disappointing.
Old Style does have a hint of Export's aftertaste--and enough richness
to gain a dimension or two when it warms up. B MINUS

HEILEMAN SPECIAL EXPORT (La Crosse, Wisconsin) When we drank
bottles of this "naturally krausened" beer in a Chicago bar called
Jimmy's, where it went for a nickel extra and outsold its nearest
competitor two to one, we thought it was the best in America, but the
six-pack sent to us in New York seemed at first to betray our fond
memories. Eventually, however, we adjusted to the canned version of
Export's complex, slightly eccentric flavor. At Jimmy's, they used to
say it tasted "green," like the bottle; its hopsy bitterness is
relieved by something cooling that has nothing to do with
refrigeration or literal sweetness. In bottles, an A. We had only
cans. B PLUS

HORLACHER (Allentown, Pennsylvania) This one is weird. We
grew fond of its unpredictable, somewhat murky taste, but we must
point out that while we use "murky" as an antonym to clean (meaning
"well defined"), another taster thought this beer had overtones of
sewage. Other oddities: One guy thought the can looked "evil";
someone else said, "creamy aftertaste," and when fresh the canned
tasted like a totally different brew than the bottled--and it tasted
better. B MINUS

KRUEGER (Falstaff, Cranston, Rhode Island) One of the
Falstaff gang. The fermentation has that faintly rotten beer taste
that, depending on the quality of the beer, can be strangely
attractive or understandably repulsive. C

LEINENKUGEL'S (Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin) A few American
brewers have taken the national predilection for the light to its
extreme and created a specifically American fine-beer type.
Leinenkugel's, made by one of the rare small breweries lucky or clever
enough to survive in the face of megabrewery advantages, shares with
Coors a combination of delicacy and character and is sometimes called
the Coors of the East. We prefer Leinenkugel's. Sparkling at
ice-cold temperatures, the beer develops shades of flavor as it sits,
but not at the expense of its distinctive lightness.
A MINUS

LONE STAR (San Antonio, Texas) Another fabled local beer
that sits taller in the story than in the glass. We'd rather drink
Pearl, its local competition, but suggest that visitors to Texas look
around for another fabled Texas beer we couldn't get hold of: Shiner.
C

MICHELOB (Anheuser-Busch, Newark, New Jersey) It beats Bud,
of course, but we think you can do better. Though rich and creamy,
it's so free of bad beer flavors that it's hard to remember you've
been drinking it. Therefore good with meals. B PLUS

MILLER HIGH LIFE (Milwaukee, Wisconsin) This isn't the
champagne of bottled beer so much as the Vichy water, which isn't
bad--it's a great thirst quencher. Many people swear that this is one
beer where the "bottled" of the slogan is essential--the canned is
supposed to be tinny. Our blindfold test, however, revealed only that
Miller's should be stored near the freezer and served very, very cold.
Number five nationally. B

NATIONAL BOHEMIAN LIGHT BEER (Baltimore, Maryland) It
definitely does not let down the good family name. It's clean and
pleasant but not innocuous, with a slightly penetrating aftertaste.
It generally placed high on taste tests, to discriminating judges and
against stiff competition. We unfairly continue to measure it against
the premium. B

NATIONAL PREMIUM (Baltimore, Maryland) For some time, we
were convinced that this European-slanted beer with the conglomerate
name and the water from Baltimore's city water system was the best in
America. National Premium not only scored consistently well against
all American premiums, it held its own in blindfold tests against the
best European labels. Dry, pleasurable to contemplate--particulary at
warmer temperatures--with distinctive but not weirdo minty bitterness,
and very clean and light, National Premium seemed to offer the best
aspects of both European and American beer. We'd still like to think
that's true. But alas, after our free samples ran out, the bottles we
bought in the real world (from our local supermarket) were so stale
and inferior that we felt compelled to qualify our judgment.
A MINUS

OLYMPIA (Olympia, Washington) Very clean, quenching and
inoffensive, with no describable flavor to distract the drinker from
his appointed round, and the next round, and the next. If Budweiser
succeeds by being all beers to all men, this succeeds by being all
light beers to all men. Does that mean women will like it more?
B

ORTLIEB (Philadelphia, Pennsylvania) A slightly better than
average beer--it has a little sparkle. The bottled is creamier than
the canned, the draught grainier than the regular, but on the whole,
not much difference among the lot. C PLUS

PABST BLUE RIBBON (Newark, New Jersey) Since Pabst is doing
so well (number three nationally), why not support your local C beer?
The only reason to drink Pabst is if you like yours sweet or can get
hold of Pabst dark draught, which is delicious. C

PEARL (San Antonio, Texas) There is definitely something
fresh about this beer--after all, Pearl took Schlitz to court for
crowding its market--but it has never tasted as good in our kitchen as
it did when we first tried it in Big Bend National Park.
C PLUS

PIELS (Willimansett, Massachusetts) New Yorkers proudly cite
Piels as the worst standard-brand beer in the country, although
Bostonians opt for Narragansett (which is in the running) and San
Fransiscans for Lucky Lager (which isn't). Jerry Della Femina says
the one problem which those great Bert and Harry ads--which you don't
see anymore--was that they encouraged people to notice the stuff,
whereupon sales went down. Less of that stale balsa taste in the
canned draught version but not enough to justify the price
differential to anyone who can subtract.
D PLUS/C MINUS

PRIOR GOLDEN LIGHT BEER (Schmidt, Philadelphia,
Pennsylvania) This one is rich, though with a decided middle-range
tone in taste. Not so the Double Dark, a dessert-rich beer with a
thick, creamy head and burnt-caramel flavor. The Double Dark is so
sweet that even the old dregs are drinkable. B

RHEINGOLD (Brooklyn, New York) Rheingold frequently inspires
a New York passion unequal to the objective demands of the blindfold
test; it can taste pretty sour. But at least you're sure it's there.
You can't say that much of the one other remaining New York beer,
Schaefer, which the tinny flavor of cans actually improves.
C

ROLLING ROCK (Latrobe, Pennsylvania) Another beer of East
Coast myth. Fresh and in bottles, it quenches with an admirable zesty
bite. In cans or after a few weeks in the refrigerator, it starts to
taste like a cheapo. B

ROYAL AMBER (Wiedemann/Heileman, Newport, Kentucky) Five out
of six blindfold tasters preferred Royal Amber to Carlsberg, Lowenbrau
and Heineken, calling it dry, crispy, tangy, smooth. We found it
almost like two beers. The light foretaste in no way prepares the
palate for the bittersweet afterbite that takes over as it warms in
the glass. A few other American beers hold up when the chills wears
off--this one actually gets better. A

SCHLITZ (Winston-Salem, North Carolina) Schlitz and
Anheuser-Busch have been taking turns at first place in national sales
for years, but while Budweiser can boast at least respect for the
great cross section to which it appeals, Schlitz just has
superefficient plants. Impressively inconsistent for a product of its
distribution, Schlitz won one blindfold test against Bud (out of five)
and lost one to Munich. At its worst, offensive, with an aftertaste
strangely like deviled ham; at best, soft and nicely bland.
C

SCHMIDT'S (Philadelphia, Pennsylvania) A cleaner C beer than
Pabst, a less flavorful one that Schlitz. C

SHOPWELL PREMIUM (Colonial, Hammonton, New Jersey) As with
all house brands, the first virtue of supermarket beer is bulk-order
economy. But whereas Ann Page jams and Jerseymaid yogurt also taste
good, all the supermarket beers we've sampled are best consumed
quickly, very cold and under pressure of great thirst. This one was
made in a brewery in New Jersey that Shopwell refused to name and told
us was in Pennsylvania, doubtless for fear of reprisals. From the
taste, we figure it's economical because it uses a lot of water and we
daren't imagine what kind of grain. It's called "Premium" because
words are cheap. D PLUS

STEGMAIER (Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania) After an evening of
good beers, we tried this Pennsylvania cheapo, currently exported to
New York. Our notation: "Aftertaste something like dirt." Three days
later, very thirsty, we opened another can. It was OK.
C MINUS

STRAUB (St. Mary's, Pennsylvania) At moments, we thought
this was just wonderful and wrote down comments like "springy" and
"soft-edged." Then at other times, like now, too drunk to know if we
were more or less drunk than we had been the times before, we wondered
what we could have meant. B MINUS

STROH'S (Detroit, Michigan) The only beer in America brewed
over a live flame. A friend from Detroit, who claimed it was swill,
chose it blindfolded twice over both Bud and his supposed favorite.
But a friend from Chicago, who had fallen in love with Stroh's during
a summer in Detroit, rated it below Bud. We rank it above, one of the
solidest large-circulation local beers in the country. B

TUBORG (Carling, Baltimore, Maryland) One victim of this
survey was our preference for Tuborg. When Carling first began to
brew the former Danish import, we thought it held up well enough, even
in cans, but it simply has not done well on blindfold tests. Not as
complex as National Premium, not as full as Andeker, and rather
flat-tasting generally. Seems better in bottles. B

WALTER'S (Eau Claire, Wisconsin) This beer's immoderate
delicacy evoked small cries of pleasure during blindfold tests. Even
more delicate than Leinenkugel's, its local rival, Walter's is
practically devoid of bitterness. Its taste--and smell--suggest
honey. The result is mild enough to stay down a novice's gullet but
dry and restrained enough not to embarrass the hardened.
A MINUS

The Transoceanic Guzzle:
A brief look at the imports

While usually more bitter and sometimes sweeter than American beer,
the imports--particularly the Europeans--are best distinguished by
their substantiality, a quality referring, in crudest terms, to the
stuff you're left with when the chill is gone. Imported beers are
liable to arrive in slightly altered condition, as shipping trauma and
rumored concessions to the American market may, indeed, affect the
taste. Still, one must assume that memories of superior on-location
foreign beers may well have less to do with real differences than with
the thirsty-traveler syndrome, which can happen anywhere.

BECK'S (Bremen, West Germany) A weighty, bittersweet
concoction that holds its flavor down through warmth but leaves you
wondering whether that's a virtue. This beer is so overbearing that
bad-mouthing it seems risky. There are self-appointed aficionados who
swear even by its Plutonian dark version, but by normal American
standards, we think it's too eccentric for unqualified approbation.
B PLUS

CARLSBERG (Copenhagen, Denmark) Carlsberg's unique, but not
for the best reasons. Although interestingly dry at freezing
temperatures, Carlsberg soon becomes thinner and sourer than the other
Europeans. B

DOS EQUIS (Mexico) XX, one of the two leading Mexican
imports, has a deep amber color, a strong, distinctive flavor and
about four times the glass life of the blond Carta Blanca.
Well-tempered bitterness and substantial body. Will get you drunk.
B PLUS

HEINEKEN (Holland) Heineken is European beer in many bars
and supermarkets this side of the Atlantic and, though against
Lowenbrau and Wurzburger it falls somewhat short on definition, its
popularity is no indication of American gullibility. This beer does
what European beers are supposed to do: keeps your tongue busy. Its
sharp, cool, bitter flavor is modulated with a tangy one, and its body
is vibrantly light. We found, incidentally, that, serving suggestion
notwithstanding (45 to 50 degrees), we liked Heineken best the way we
drank it in Amsterdam, ice-cold. A MINUS

KIRIN (Japan) Don't expect this to taste exotic just because
it's made from rice--read a Budweiser label lately? It does taste
zingy and refreshing and is clearly a quality beer but not one of the
greats. The slight bitterness is only slightly interesting, and even
Kirin admirers admit that it flirts with pissiness. B

LABATT "BLUE" (Canada) We used to marvel mildly over Labatt
"Green", which we now discover to be an ale that tastes like a beer, a
not-quite-Bud-class beer at that. The "Blue" is worse. Outleagued.
C PLUS

LOWENBRAU (Munich, West Germany) People who love Lowenbrau
talk about it the way mountain climbers talk about mountains. The
name means "Lion's Brew," and it's an impressive, unmistakable and
distracting beer. You don't just toss down a glass of Lowenbrau. Of
all the European beers, which often seem less drink than food,
Lowenbrau is the foodiest. It has enough bitterness to make you
cringe, sunk into a heavily sweet flavor, but that flavor is also full
and the body very robust. We're impressed. We'd just rather drink
one of those dry Wurzburgers. A MINUS

RED STRIPE (Jamaica) The only import in the superlight
category. If you've ever gotten hot in Jamaica, where Red Stripe is
sold in vending machines for about 20 cents for 12 ounces, you can
understand why--this beer is so smooth, so clear, so clean that it's a
better means of rapid rehydration than water. Back in the nontropical
U.S.A., where the hassle of tracking the stuff down is equaled only
but the shock of paying for it (10 ounces cost us $1.50 in a
high-priced Jamaican restaurant), some of the charm disappears.
Still, rather remarkable. B PLUS

RINGNES SPECIAL (Oslo, Norway) Currently available in East
Coast supermarkets at a special price, Ringnes Special is probably the
best import bargain around, and plenty of people actually prefer it to
the heavies because it tastes clean and crisp as well as full-bodied.
The flavor does lose class as it sits, though. B PLUS

WHITBREAD (London, England) The English, who--whatever they
tell you--don't get summer, thaw out year round with strong, flat,
slightly sweet, unchilled (who needs it?), bitter beer that, like the
weather, takes some adjusting to. One of us had already adjusted (to
the beer--even the English never adjust to the weather) and relished
Whitbread as a thick, malty, slow-drinking beer. The other found
Whitbread, like sourish Watney's, devoid of appeal.
B PLUS

WURZBURGER (Wurzburg, West Germany) An American's European
beer. Not at all overwhelming but by no means emasculated. Dry,
sharp, foamy, complex, subtle. Winner of the 1971 New York Magazine
beer survey. The svelte gold-foil-topped bottle (slimmer than
Lowenbrau's) is also notably lovely. A